Lost Weekend
I’m conscious that reading this blog alcohol consumption is frequently mentioned; I would not like you to think I have a drink problem, so please remember that these stories are about specific events, not a normal week. That said this story is about a weekend lost in booze! The Dubai rugby sevens tournament is held annually over the first weekend of December. A huge event on the social calendar it tempts teams from all over the world. Several trophies are up for grabs including the IRB Sevens Emirates International Trophy. Around 40 thousand people attended over 3 days in 2004 and for business in the region it’s a big spend on sponsorship and corporate hospitality. Being a St Helens lass, rugby is in my blood, though rugby league; unions’ far more entertaining cousin, in my opinion anyway. I must admit that thanks to my Welsh mate Gareth I have acquired an appreciation of the 15 a-side game over recent years. The sevens is something else though, it’s faster than the 15 a-side version and to me, much more interesting to watch. I was quite keen therefore to attend the 2004 Dubai Sevens. His nibs had been invited to corporate hospitality so we went along to the second days play with the promise of free booze, and large thighs to ogle.
Coincidently my league home team St Helens RLFC, AKA the Saints were playing in the invitation cup; even more for me to cheer for. His nibs didn’t have a clue about rugby back then, and was keen to learn, so I gave him increasingly slurred information about the game and its rules. A great day was had, with lots of free beer flowing, funny how it tastes much better when you’ve not had to pay! The rugby was entertaining, but as the corporate box we were in was less than half full the atmosphere could have been better. The Saints won all their games, much to my delight and once the on pitch entertainment had finished, his nibs and I headed to the Heineken tent for yet more beer, and to meet some of his friends. There we had a great evening; I danced my bootie off to Motown and northern soul with the wife of one of his nibs’ mates. Exhausted and very drunk, we staggered to the taxi rank around midnight and headed home.
I had plans to go to the final day with my girlfriends but with a stinging hangover the last thing I wanted was more beer. As I recovered on my couch, I received a call from the COO of the company I worked for. “Get your arse to our corp. box” I was instructed “there’s someone here I want you to meet”. Though I was very surprised at the request I got my act together and after a very long cool shower headed back to the country club. Once there my lack of corporate ticket became evident, however, in typical northern bird style I pulled my shoulders back and walked in like I owned the place. Amazingly this tactic worked and I climbed the steps to our corp. stand. No sooner had I arrived than the COO collared me, thrust a can of cold beer into my hand and took to meet his special guest. The guest was none other than the Saints chairman Eamonn McManus. He’d heard quite a lot about me as when introduced to other company managers their intellectual response was “I know someone from St Helens, her names Bev”. He was very pleased to hear another ‘wollyback’ accent and we sat down to chat and watch the rugby.
When Saints scored we jumped up, screamed and hugged each other as any real fans would, much to the disgust of the other corporate guests! You can imagine our delight when we progressed all the way to the final, not bad for a team that plays league with a completely different set of rules. Though we were beaten in the final, both Eamonn and I were very proud of our teams’ performance, and he was keen to go give the lads a pat on the back and congratulate the coach, so headed down to the players tunnel, and insisted on dragging me along! He introduced me to the coaching staff and some of the players, who were bitterly disappointed to have lost. That’s my team!
We headed back to the stand to watch the last of the games and of course the final. A great end to the day’s rugby as England beat Fiji, 26 – 21 for the top trophy! The finale of the 3 day event is the ‘Rugby Rock’ concert; a loud and not that bad band belts out cover versions of pop and rock floor fillers keeping the by now very drunk revelers in the party mood. I’d had more than enough by this stage so headed home for a much needed rest and a week’s detox!
Coincidently my league home team St Helens RLFC, AKA the Saints were playing in the invitation cup; even more for me to cheer for. His nibs didn’t have a clue about rugby back then, and was keen to learn, so I gave him increasingly slurred information about the game and its rules. A great day was had, with lots of free beer flowing, funny how it tastes much better when you’ve not had to pay! The rugby was entertaining, but as the corporate box we were in was less than half full the atmosphere could have been better. The Saints won all their games, much to my delight and once the on pitch entertainment had finished, his nibs and I headed to the Heineken tent for yet more beer, and to meet some of his friends. There we had a great evening; I danced my bootie off to Motown and northern soul with the wife of one of his nibs’ mates. Exhausted and very drunk, we staggered to the taxi rank around midnight and headed home.
I had plans to go to the final day with my girlfriends but with a stinging hangover the last thing I wanted was more beer. As I recovered on my couch, I received a call from the COO of the company I worked for. “Get your arse to our corp. box” I was instructed “there’s someone here I want you to meet”. Though I was very surprised at the request I got my act together and after a very long cool shower headed back to the country club. Once there my lack of corporate ticket became evident, however, in typical northern bird style I pulled my shoulders back and walked in like I owned the place. Amazingly this tactic worked and I climbed the steps to our corp. stand. No sooner had I arrived than the COO collared me, thrust a can of cold beer into my hand and took to meet his special guest. The guest was none other than the Saints chairman Eamonn McManus. He’d heard quite a lot about me as when introduced to other company managers their intellectual response was “I know someone from St Helens, her names Bev”. He was very pleased to hear another ‘wollyback’ accent and we sat down to chat and watch the rugby.
When Saints scored we jumped up, screamed and hugged each other as any real fans would, much to the disgust of the other corporate guests! You can imagine our delight when we progressed all the way to the final, not bad for a team that plays league with a completely different set of rules. Though we were beaten in the final, both Eamonn and I were very proud of our teams’ performance, and he was keen to go give the lads a pat on the back and congratulate the coach, so headed down to the players tunnel, and insisted on dragging me along! He introduced me to the coaching staff and some of the players, who were bitterly disappointed to have lost. That’s my team!We headed back to the stand to watch the last of the games and of course the final. A great end to the day’s rugby as England beat Fiji, 26 – 21 for the top trophy! The finale of the 3 day event is the ‘Rugby Rock’ concert; a loud and not that bad band belts out cover versions of pop and rock floor fillers keeping the by now very drunk revelers in the party mood. I’d had more than enough by this stage so headed home for a much needed rest and a week’s detox!
posted by Bev @ 9:52 am
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